


Everything Comes Back to You

by simplysirius



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Feels, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Heavy Angst, M/M, Moony - Freeform, One Shot, Padfoot - Freeform, Pining, Relationship(s), Remus x Sirius, sirius x remus, wolfstar, wolfstar fanfiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:48:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26953147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplysirius/pseuds/simplysirius
Summary: Remus reminisces about the life he used to live before the war took everything from him; dancing in the pub with Sirius, drinking with James, and laughing with Lily. When Sirius comes home from Azkaban some twelve years later, a shell of what he once was, Remus tries to start fresh, with only a few dusty memories to remind him who Sirius really is.Loosely based on "This Town" by Niall Horan
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 2
Kudos: 40





	Everything Comes Back to You

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on Tumblr @simplysirius for more!

Remus walked down the streets of Hogsmeade with his hands buried deep in his pockets. A light blanket of white covered the ground, with more fat snowflakes twirling from the dark skies above. He shivered, pulling his scarf tighter around his neck as he slowly navigated the icy cobblestones. 

The village was quiet, save for the sound of the snowflakes settling on the ground. It was twilight, and the lampposts illuminated the old buildings in a soft yellow light, sparkling off the freshly fallen powder. The streets were empty, and, almost at once, Remus realized it was Christmas Eve. The shops were closed, but that was okay because it’s not like Remus had anyone to buy a present for anyways. His parents had, of course, sent an invitation in the mail, but Remus never opened it. Eventually, it got buried under the pile of other unopened letters. 

His feet dragged along in the snow, eyes downcast in front of him. Remus didn’t even remember why he decided to go for a walk in the first place. Maybe to get some fresh air; his apartment had gone stale and the walls were suddenly too close together. That kind of thing tends to happen when the windows are shuttered and the door is triple locked for weeks at a time. But here he was, shuffling through Hogsmeade on Christmas Eve going god knows where; only knowing that he was alone, and that he was alone yesterday, and that he would be alone tomorrow.

The sound of a lively fiddle cut through the air, and Remus looked up so quickly that his feet swept out from under him and he found himself sprawled on the ground, snow in his hair, ice against his legs. His eyes found the worn and battered sign of The Three Broomsticks, where a raucous chorus of instruments vibrated the walls. 

Dusting himself off, Remus stumbled towards the window, not daring to go near the door, and peered in, cupping his face to better see through the frost. Two violinists jigged their way around the small stage, flanked by a rotund man on the accordion. Grinning from the back, a wiry bagpiper whistled away, and another man pounded on a large drum. In front of them, a large crowd of people danced wildly, the drinks in their hands spilling, their inhibitions long since shed. The musicians finished their song to wild applause, and wasted no time transitioning into the next piece.

Remus closed his eyes, letting the thinly muffled music infiltrate his ears, swallow his brain, and sink his heart. He knew the song within the first three notes. The same rumbling drum beat, followed by an energetic pull on the violin strings. The crowd clapped along, spinning each other by the elbows and hopping from foot to foot. It was all too much. Remus opened his eyes, meaning to step away from the glass, but instead, he was transported back to the last time he stood inside The Three Broomsticks, reliving one of his most precious days.

It was the night before they graduated from Hogwarts. Really, it was just like any other night – the bedroom was still a disaster, the boys were still complaining about their exams, James was still droning about Lily – but there was this sense of finality in the air that settled uncomfortably on James, Sirius, and Remus’ shoulders. It was the last night the three would ever share a room. The last endless Hogwarts dinner, made bittersweet by the realization that this was it. The last night that they were firmly kids, and expected to be nothing more. James decided that it was worth celebrating. 

He collected Lily and the four of them snuck out of Hogwarts under a very ill-fitting invisibility cloak, racing down the uneven cobblestone streets of Hogsmeade once they had slipped through the portal in the Room of Requirement. Sirius pulled Remus faster, hand clasped in his, looking back over his shoulder, hair streaking behind him, and flashing a wicked grin. 

They fell into The Three Broomsticks in fits of laughter, navigating through the patrons to their usual table in the back. No one liked to sit there because the chairs were all kinds of uneven and there was a fantastic crack down the middle of the table. Sirius liked the chairs because it made it look like he and Remus were the same height. James liked the table because, as he insisted, the crack adds character. 

Four mugs of butterbeer found their way to the table, and shortly later, a second round was delivered. 

“It’s been a hell of a ride, mates,” James announced, holding his mug in the air. Remus, Sirius, and Lily mirrored him. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“If you start crying, I’m going to start crying,” Sirius chided, the flickering candlelight revealing his already misty eyes. He sniffed and raised his mug higher, spilling some of the liquid down his hand. “Cheers, motherfuckers.”

They clinked their mugs together and drank. 

“Where is your new flat?” Remus asked, eyes flickering between James and Lily. 

“Right next to–” Lily began before she was cut off by a booming drum beat. On the far side of the room, a five-piece band struck up a vivacious tune, bodies swaying and leaning into the music. Lily turned to James, eyes on fire. Without another word, the two jumped out of their chairs, hooking their arms together, and gamboled across the floor with what little space there was to dance. Others joined in, and soon, Lily and James were lost in the crowd.

Beside him, Sirius stood, grinning down at Remus. He extended a hand, regal, as if asking to dance to a solemn ballad rather than a skipping jig. “C’mon,” he urged.

“I’m not drunk enough for that yet,” Remus declined, lifting his butterbeer delicately to his mouth. 

Sirius raised an eyebrow and, with one slender finger, raised the bottom of Remus’ mug higher, forcing him to drink faster to keep the beer from pouring down the front of his shirt. When the mug was empty, Sirius relented and smirked. “Are you drunk enough now?”

“Now I’m too drunk to dance,” Remus gasped, a knowing smile tugging on his face. 

Sirius wrapped his fingers around Remus’ wrists and pulled him upright, dragging him into the sea of people. He secured his hands on Remus’ shoulders and Remus’, blushing, held Sirius’ hips tightly against his own. Together, they spun and jumped around, crashing into others around them but only laughing louder, foreheads pressed together, white-toothed grins flashing in the dim light. Remus didn’t know the right steps, his head too fuzzy with butterbeer, his heart too drunk with the sensation of Sirius draped over every part of his body, but it didn’t matter. They stumbled through the jig, twirling with the best of them.

There was something about watching Sirius dance that was ethereal. It was in his hair, sashaying around his strong jawline, and the way that the candle light caught in his blue eyes. There was an overwhelming sense of freedom, of splendor, and even though it was contagious, no one could match his elegant inimitability. Remus loved it. Remus loved him.

Brushing up against his back, James rest his head against Remus’ shoulder blade and gave him a sidelong glance.

“You’re still a terrible dancer, Remus,” he commented, gracefully dipping Lily backwards. She let her leg wrap around his hips, heel pressing into the small of his back. They were dancing masters, fueled by Lily’s childhood ballet classes and James’ determination to excel at anything that would put him in her favor. 

Sirius reached out and flicked James’ forehead, spinning Remus away and pressing a small, discreet kiss to his cheek. “If the whole world was watching, I’d still dance with you.” 

It was a resolute promise, his voice tender and gentle. It made Remus’ heart swell, and, at risk of exploding, he gathered three words on the tip of his tongue. His lips parted, but he couldn’t speak. He tried again, but no words came out. Sirius just looked at him, an endearing laugh bubbling from his chest, and spun him around again.

The song fizzled to a soft end and Remus blinked, suddenly back out in the snow, looking through the window, registering, with a tight chest, that he was still alone. Backing away from the glass, he carefully trudged through the snow, falling harder now, towards his house. Never his home. It would never be home. Home had two piercing blue eyes, long black hair that was always tangled, and dusty pink lips that were swollen more times than not. Home was gone.

It had been a year. Maybe. Remus didn’t have a reason to keep count of the days once they began blending together, once night morphed into day without any announcement, once full moons were no longer the worst days of his life. On the contrary, Remus welcomed the moons with open arms; locked in the shack, he could do as much damage to himself as he deserved, with the added benefit of losing his conscious for a few hours. It was the only time he wasn’t thinking about Sirius, and for once, it was a relief.

When he finally came to, blinking slowly until the world came into focus, his body ached and his heart bled. There were a few seconds between claws receding into fingers and Remus’ thoughts returning to his body that were blurry, like his brain was trying to sort through every memory and catch up to the present. But his brain was tired, and it often confused reality with reveries. Every time he opened his eyes, he expected to find Sirius holding his head in his lap, smiling down at him while his wand sealed away the plethora of cuts and gashes. 

But Sirius was not there. Sirius was in Azkaban. Remus refused to believe it was true. He had not murdered those muggles. He had not given James and Lily up. He didn’t know what happened, but he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Sirius Black, his Sirius, would never commit such a crime. But there he was, sprawled on the hard floor of Azkaban, a small window on the wall a cruel reminder of the moons he was missing, and there Remus was, gasping on the cold floor of the Shrieking Shack, waiting for Grim’s sweet song to take him.

Remus cried for Sirius. He cried for himself. He cried because he never said I love you. 

There had been so many chances, but he could never make himself say it. It was only after the first night Sirius had been taken, Remus’ body numb with losing every friend he’s ever had in just a matter of hours, that he found the words. He whispered them while clutching Sirius’ pillow to his chest. Over and over and over. Until he was screaming. Punching the pillow. Clawing at his hair. 

The days were lonely. Every morning, Remus would open his eyes, turnover in bed with his lips pursed, and realize he was waking up alone, with no one to kiss but the empty expanse of his spare pillow. There was a dip in the bed beside him that didn’t quite fit his body – it was too short and broad – but on his worst days, Remus forced his arms and limbs to fold under him, molding himself to sink into the small space. He pressed he nose into the mattress and, if he tried hard enough, Remus could still smell him, all sandalwood and ash and musk. 

When Remus finally managed to pull himself out of bed some hours later, he shuffled around his dusty flat, not bothering to push the curtains aside or open the front door to collect the newspaper. After a small mountain of weeklies had been left untouched on his stoop, the mail boy gave up and stopped delivering them. Remus would sit at the small kitchen table, absentmindedly staring at his cup of tea, watching the steam swirl in the air. Sometimes he saw flashing of Sirius around the flat that sent him reeling backwards, trying to find something to bare the weight of his body when his legs gave out. There were shadows of Sirius in front of the stove, no doubt burning his second attempt at scrambled eggs. There were shadows of Sirius in the bathroom, wiggling his eyebrows as he stripped his clothes and stood next to Remus in the shower. There were shadows of Sirius lying in bed, watching Remus read, running slow fingers through his hair. Remus had figured that if he boarded up the windows, preventing any light from streaming in, that the shadows would disperse, but that’s the funny thing about shadows: just because you don’t see them in front of you doesn’t mean they aren’t lurking behind you.

In the twelve years since, Remus figured out how to pick up the pieces and glue them back together, jamming them this way and that to make an ill-fitting, shattered but somewhat whole person. He bought a new flat, one without any memories covering the walls, and he became a professor at Hogwarts. It was a new life. Not a better life, but a life. At night, the space beside him in bed was still empty. He wasn’t ready. He’d never be ready.

So when he saw Sirius Black standing in front of him in the Shrieking Shack, gaunt and languid, eyes sunken into his skill and lips a pale purple, fingers shaking and arms stretched wide, the only thing that Remus could think to say was, “hi.”

Sirius stepped forward, stumbling a little, and Remus gamely caught him, wanting to squeeze his body until there was no space between them, but too afraid of breaking his frail bones. 

“Are you real?” Remus whispered, pulling Sirius’ head into his shoulder. His hair was coarse, like the life had been sucked out of it, and his skin was glacial, stinging against Remus’.

“I think so,” Sirius mumbled, voice screamed ragged and hoarse. 

It wasn’t how Remus was planning it all those years ago, and he still wasn’t convinced this was entirely real, but he wasn’t about to waste any more time. He had wasted so many opportunities. If Sirius was really standing there in his arms, alive and free from twelve years of imprisonment, Remus was all in.

“I love you,” he said softly, so as not to scare Sirius. Sirius said nothing in return, but Remus felt a smile press up against his neck and a hand press against his chest harder. 

Sirius didn’t want to stay at Grimmauld Place, but it was the only location in the whole of England where Remus could ensure his safety. Remus stayed with him, covering the portraits of the now passed Black family and keeping Sirius quiet company. It was strange between them now, like they were constantly on the tips of their toes, trying to navigate through twelve years of baggage without actually talking. Sirius didn’t ask Remus about his life, and in turn, Remus didn’t ask Sirius, either. At night, they lay in the same bed miles apart, only daring to let their fingers graze and toes meet. 

Sirius spent a long time staring at walls, staring at ceilings, and staring at Remus. At times, Remus wasn’t sure if his eyes were looking at anything at all or if he was just looking into an endless abyss.

After their initial reunion, Sirius had fallen silent. He didn’t respond to Remus’ questions, and surely didn’t care to speak to Kreatcher. He didn’t shake his head no or motion with his eyes. When he finally did speak, sitting in front of the fireplace with a heavy blanket over his lap, it scared Remus so much he nearly dropped the tray of tea he was carrying.

“You still make me nervous when you walk in a room,” he said quietly.

At first, Remus assumed Sirius was mumbling to himself – his eyes were firmly cemented to the dancing flames in front of him – but when Remus didn’t respond, Sirius turned to look at him. Remus set the tea tray down and distributed two cups. 

“Why?” Remus asked.

“Because you’re you,” Sirius responded, as if that explained everything. 

Remus settled beside him on the couch, daring to press their legs together and lean a little on Sirius’ shoulder. “Do you remember our last night at The Three Broomsticks?”

“Yes,” Sirius answered uncertainly. And then, “I think so.” Memories were hard. Most were marred with black stains and torn edges. Some were just crispy charred coals. 

Remus treaded carefully. “I remember dancing with you to that fiddle jig. The one that goes–” He imitated the violins in a rocky, off-key song. The corners of Sirius’ lips perked up. “And I remember thinking how beautiful you looked. And how I never wanted that night to end. James told me I was a bad dancer, but you didn’t seem to mind.”

Sirius nodded along, vague memories flooding back. Yes, he could remember dancing, though he wasn’t sure what color his jumper was. Yes, he could remember loving Remus, though he didn’t know why he hadn’t told him. Yes, he could remember Remus, because he could never forget him, no matter how many dementors surrounded him.

Remus stood from the couch and held out his hand, feeling stupid to think that Sirius might take it, but standing there all the same. As expected, Sirius stared up at him, confused. “Dance with me,” Remus requested.

“There’s no music,” Sirius noted. Remus didn’t retract his hand. Sirius blinked twice before pushing the blanket to the side and holding onto Remus.

His body was still frail, so the wild movements and exuberant gestures from The Three Broomsticks were gone, replaced with a gentle sway and a slow circle. Remus did most of the work, supporting Sirius by his hips.

“If the whole world was watching, I’d still dance with you,” Sirius said suddenly, a rare, crystal clear memory returning to his brain. 

Remus stopped breathing for a second, vision suddenly clouded with tears, and wiped his face on Sirius’ jumper. 

“You love me,” Sirius added, pulling away to look at Remus’ face. It was a question, waiting for confirmation. 

Remus swallowed. “Yes.”

“After twelve years.”

“Yes,” he repeated. 

“Why?”

“Everything comes back to you,” Remus answered honestly. 

Sirius nodded, leaning in to rest his head against Remus’ shoulder. His body was so tired, and Remus was so warm. “I love you too.”


End file.
